


Our Memories

by Snortinglaughter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Discussion About Having Children, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Planning, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, Parenting Discussion, Top Harry Potter, relationship miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snortinglaughter/pseuds/Snortinglaughter
Summary: Harry and Draco had been living together in a decent flat in London for two wonderful years. One could say it was all sunshine and roses, until their increasing distance edged them to a possible unexpected ending of an unexpected relationship.You and me, we used to be togetherEveryday together, always.Don't Speak - No Doubt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I owe my life to @/maqicool and @/restlessandordinary for the beta and the awesome comments and to @/foularcadebanana for putting up with my constant whining and for the love. You are all amazing, precious human beings and I can never thank you enough.
> 
> Thank you to the mods for organizing this fest. This is my first anonymous one ever and I have always been attracted to writing fics inspired by songs, so it was not an opportunity to be wasted.
> 
> Prompted by [untilourapathy](https://untilourapathy.tumblr.com).

Draco stood outside the dorm, closing and opening his eyes every few seconds, hoping beyond hope that the names on the parchment that hung on the wall had changed. There had to be a mistake. That, or someone had a very sick sense of humor and just wished to see Draco suffer; probably the latter.

 

A scattering noise came from inside the dorm, which meant his new roommate was already there. Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was going to be a long year.

 

“Shitty way to start the year, innit?” Potter said with something that resembled a scowl as soon as Draco set foot inside.

 

He gave Potter a half-hearted sneer and levitated his trunk to the foot of the remaining bed, discreetly looking around his new dormitory. It was very… different. The walls were light beige, the beds a chocolate brown with ivory curtains. There was a window beside his bed from where the Quidditch stadium could be seen; it was nice, but Draco missed the green and silver, the padded cushions, and most of all he missed the glass wall where the creatures of the lake could be seen.

 

“This is new,” Potter said, opening the doors of his wardrobe. He shrugged at Draco’s lifted eyebrow. “We just kept all of our stuff in our trunks in the Gryffindor dorm.”

 

“Hm.” No wonder their robes always looked like crap.

 

Of all the students that had come back to Hogwarts to complete their magical education, he had to be paired with Harry sodding Potter. Brilliant fucking idea that was. Even after making their peace at the trials, Draco wasn’t sure they could manage to spend half a day together without hexing one another. It was just the way they were.

 

“Bloody hell, it’s true,” someone murmured outside, and then Weasley poked his head inside the dorm. “Hey, er, Harry. Hermione’s waiting for us outside.”

 

“Right.” Without sparing a look at Draco, Potter followed Weasley.

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny and Neville made the announcement today that they are expecting. Draco is happy for them, he really is, but he knows this will bring up the subject he tries so hard to avoid. When Harry looked at Draco, he had averted his gaze and excused himself to the restroom.  
  
He is struggling to sleep tonight. He lies on his side of the bed, staring out the window. The stars twinkle and the moonlight casts shadows on the honey colored wooden floor, but he isn’t really looking; for once, stars don’t hold his attention. Harry’s breathing isn’t as slow and deep as it is when he sleeps, he must be awake too. Draco doesn't want to ask what is wrong, he thinks he knows.

 

They have been living together in a decent flat in London for two wonderful years. One could say it was all sunshine and roses, until Harry had mentioned, a couple of months ago, that the Ministry had opened a Department for Integral Family Development. Draco had felt a heavy weight pulling down on his shoulders.

 

The mattress creaks and the covers are shoved down. The clock on the nightstand _—_ a white rectangle with a dark wooden frame _—_ shows twelve thirty. He turns around to find Harry standing, putting his slippers on.

 

“Where are you going?” he asks against his better judgement.

 

“Just getting a glass of water, go back to sleep,” Harry answers, and goes out the door.

 

Draco lies on his side again, hugging his knees against his chest. After coming back home from Ginny and Neville’s, Harry had asked Draco if something was wrong. Draco said no and changed the subject.

 

He doesn't know what time it is when he finally dozes off to sleep, but he did notice Harry hadn't returned.

 

* * *

 

“Very well, now. We’ll change the dynamic of the class; give it a bit of a spin. You’ll partner up with your roommates,” Slughorn said, giving them a stern look as several students groaned. “Instructions on page thirty eight, you can find all the ingredients in the cupboard. Off you go.”

Brilliant. It wasn’t enough that he had to sleep in the same room as Potter, now Draco had to share a desk with the git in his favorite class. Surely it was all Headmistress McGonagall’s idea to try and ‘forget old quarrels and strengthen fellowship between Houses.’

 

Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.

 

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter thumping his forehead several times on the table where he was sitting between Granger and Weasley.

 

“If I have to endure Granger’s lectures about the correct stirring of a potion or some rubbish of the sort I will hex my ears inside out,” Pansy murmured beside Draco.

 

“At least she knows what she’s doing,” Blaise said as he walked away towards Weasley, not bothering to lower his voice. “ _My_ plonker of a roommate is a complete mess.”

 

Pansy shrugged and flapped her hair back as she took off to sit on the table in front of Draco, she busied herself inspecting her red lacquered nails just as Granger sat beside her.

 

“Long hair suits you,” Granger said confidently. “I like it.” And then proceeded to light their cauldron.

 

Pansy’s jaw fell open. She looked back at Draco, who simply shrugged but thought Granger was not wrong.

 

“Right, Malfoy,” Potter said, dropping his backpack on the chair beside Draco. “Let’s get this over with. I’ll take the ingredients from the cupboard while you light the cauldron.”

 

Potter might have saved Draco from the Fiendfyre and from Azkaban —he had thanked him properly after the trials— and he may be the bloody Vanquisher or whatever they were calling him as of late, and… well yes, he might be slightly good looking, but- but that wasn't the point and it certainly didn't mean he had the right to order Draco around. He wasn't taking orders from anybody, not anymore. Not even from the Slayer of Dark Lords.

 

“No,” Draco said firmly, summoning the poshest accent he could manage —he knew how much this grated Potter’s nerves. “I will get the ingredients; don’t want you to mix Dittany with Bloodflower.”

 

“I’m not stupid, you know?” Potter crossed his arms and lifted his chin. Draco supposed he was trying to look intimidating, but the small pout on Potter’s lips made him fail miserably.

 

“Prove it, Potty; light the cauldron without blasting up the whole dungeon,” Draco said, standing up and giving him a challenging look as he walked away.

 

“That’s something Seamus would do,” he responded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“Oi! I’m right here, lad,” Finnigan protested, clearly offended. He was sitting on the table right next to theirs with a Ravenclaw whose name Draco didn't bother remember.

 

“Oh, I – erm. Sorry, mate.”

 

Draco snorted before he could stop himself and turned his back on them, biting his lip. He wouldn’t let Potter know he’d managed to make Draco smile genuinely, even if it had been at his expense.

 

* * *

 

November rain surprises the muggles walking outside. Draco watches them from one of the windows as they run, covering their heads with newspapers or briefcases. Bless the Floo Network.

 

“You seem distressed. How are things with the Golden Boy?” Pansy asks behind him, taking him out of his reverie.

 

“Fine, they’re great,” Draco answers and takes his seat. He calmly adds a splash of cream to his tea and stirs it, careful not to clink the spoon against the porcelain, just as Mother had taught him.

 

Pansy narrows her eyes a fraction and watches him over the rim of her cup. “That bad?”

 

Draco huffs and rolls his eyes. “It’s _fine,_ Pansy; he’s just tired, is all. They overwork him at the Ministry.”

 

She blows softly on her tea. Draco watches the ripples forming on the surface of the brown liquid and thinks of the shore of the Black Lake, back in Hogwarts.

 

“Is that what he told you?” She carefully sips, then places her cup and saucer on the table, and tucks a long strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“He doesn’t need to, I _know_ him well enough, and you know what?” Draco puts his still full cup on the table, the porcelain clattering against it. “If you invited me here expecting me to talk shit about Harry, then I'm sorry to disappoint you but it won't happen.”

 

He isn’t a seventeen-year-old anymore, prone to gossip about every single aspect of his private life; Pansy should already know better than that.

 

“I am merely asking because I worry about you, darling,” Pansy says with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Well don’t,” he says, standing up and pushing his chair back. “Our relationship is fine, it’s _perfect_.”

 

She crosses her legs, and smooths the fabric of her black pencil skirt. She looks up to Draco, straight into his eyes in that way that only Pansy makes him feel, like there isn't a single secret he can keep from her. It might as well be true, no one knows him better than Pansy, not even Harry. She gives him a small, sad smile.

 

“Then why are you angry, Draco?”

 

* * *

 

The stars shone above in the night sky. Draco had been fascinated by them ever since Mother told him he was named after a constellation. He could name every single one.

 

Some might think it strange that he came back to the Astronomy Tower after the events of sixth year, but Draco had learned that it helped put things in perspective. It reminded him of the path he didn’t want to return to.

 

He leaned on the railing and tipped his head back, inhaling the scent of pine trees and wet grass after a rainy afternoon.

 

He heard steps coming up the stairs behind him. He didn’t know there would be teachers patrolling, but if he was going to get detention then so be it, he had needed some fresh air. The sounds stopped and Draco didn’t bother to turn around, waiting for the scold to come.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

Potter. Of course he would follow Draco —old habits die hard.

 

“Running away from you. Didn’t work, as always.”

 

“You don’t have to be a snarky arsehole all the time,” Potter said, appearing in Draco’s peripheral view.

 

“You don’t have to stalk me all the time and yet,” Draco extended his arms, proving his point and not meeting his gaze, “here you are.”

 

“I’m not stalking you, I just noticed you weren’t in the dorm.”

 

“And if you’re not on the watch for my every move, then how exactly did you happen to notice I wasn’t there?”

 

“Because I -” Potter had raised his voice, but took a deep breath to calm himself. “I couldn’t hear you snoring.”

 

“Excuse _you_ , Potter. I do _not_ snore,” he objected, finally looking back to Potter. Draco couldn’t help noticing the way his shirt tightened around his arms; he definitely wasn’t the knobbly little sod he’d been a few years ago.

 

“Yes, you do. Not, like, monster snore just… lightly. It’s – it helps me sleep.”

 

Draco blinked several times, he absolutely had not expected that, at all.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s kind of, you know, soothing.” Potter scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “It lulls me to sleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

Something had changed after that night, when Potter had followed Draco to the Astronomy tower. If it had happened a couple of years earlier, Draco would’ve thought Potter was- well, a fucking weirdo, to be completely honest. But despite the awkwardness between them during the following days, now Draco understood what Potter had meant. He only had to think about the routine he had acquired after the war so he could get some sleep, —sit on the edge of the bed, inhale and exhale five times, lie down, turn to the left, turn to right, close eyes.

 

Eventually, the awkwardness turned into politeness, then into smiles and small jokes. Now, as they got ready to watch the first Quidditch match of the season, Draco could assure that, while they weren’t actually friends, they were… close. Just a tad.

 

“I’m being serious, Potter. I’m starting to suspect Granger is threatening Pansy’s life to make her spend so many hours in the library. She has never missed a Quidditch match before,” Draco said, throwing his cloak over his shoulders, and then muttered, “she loves to cuss at Gryffindors.”

 

He looked out the window, and watched as several students were already heading to the pitch and occupying the stands.

 

“You might as well be right, Malfoy. Hermione is…” Potter bit his lip, probably trying to think of a good adjective for one of his best friends, and ended up shrugging. “She’s just… just Hermione. You’ll get used to it. I’m sure they’ll be there on time.”

 

Draco’s hand froze as he reached for his scarf. He had that sensation, like when you’re going down the stairs and miss a step. Potter had said, out loud, that Draco was right —that was enough to make anyone’s jaw drop— and the fact that Potter assumed that Draco would get to be around him and his friends long enough to get used to them was… he didn’t know what it was, but it made something inside his chest feel warm and cozy. He finally took his scarf and wrapped it around his neck.

 

“Anyway,” Potter continued, oblivious to Draco’s reaction. “Ten galleons says Gryffindor will kick Slytherin’s arse today.”

 

He gave Draco a smug smile before diving in his wardrobe, and cursed under his breath, trying to find his red and gold scarf. After a moment of consideration, watching as Potter found the garment and pulled on it, Draco made up his mind.

 

“You’re on,” he said just as an avalanche of rumpled clothes fell over Potter’s head. “And twenty galleons says you’ll never learn how to fold your clothes properly.”

 

The effect of Potter’s scowl was ruined by his askew glasses and a sock on his head. Draco fought the urge to laugh.

 

“You are so _on, Malfoy,_ ” he hissed.

 

Draco couldn't care less about the gold. He didn’t know if it was the excitement of watching his House play after so much time, or if it was the rush of competing —in a way— against Potter again, but a tingling sensation ran from his chest to the tips of his fingers.

 

* * *

 

“I’m off to Ron’s,” Harry says, already grabbing a pinch of Floo powder. “Have to look over some stuff for that bloody essay for Robards.”

 

Draco closes the potions book he was reading and sits up straight on the sofa.

 

“I was hoping you could stay,” he says a tad louder just as Harry throws the powder into the fireplace and green flames arise. “Maybe we could celebrate my twenty-third birthday in advance.”

 

Harry meets his gaze. He is wearing a red t-shirt and the leather jacket Draco had gifted him the past Christmas. It gives him such bad-boy vibes, with his unruly hair and the lightning scar that parts his eyebrow, and Draco fucking loves it.

 

“It's a really important essay, you know,” Harry says, watching as Draco stands, drops his book on the coffee table in front of him, and undoes the first three buttons of his shirt. “It'll, er, give us extra credits…”

 

Draco walks toward him, a smirk on his lips and a confident look in his eyes. He puts a hand on Harry’s chest, feeling his heartbeat.

 

“Have I told you how much I like you in this?” He runs his other hand down his arm, the leather soft under his palm.

 

“I don't think so, no.” Harry doesn't take his eyes off Draco's lips.

 

“I’ve been wondering.” Draco teases Harry’s earlobe with his tongue and then whispers. “When was the last time you fucked me over the coffee table?”

 

“I... haven't,” Harry says through a wistful sigh and kisses him, deep and slow. Draco feels Harry’s hands running down his back and pressing their bodies together, both of them growing hard by the second. “But I'm keen to try it out.”

 

Draco smiles wickedly, he thought he would have to find a way to convince Harry to stay, but before he even realizes he is being lifted and, instinctively, his legs wrap around Harry’s waist. True to his word, Harry carries him to the center of the living room, and gently lays him down on the coffee table. They kiss again, hard and desperate, rubbing their hips against one another. Harry’s energy is always so intense, so vibrating, it takes Draco’s breath away and leaves him exhausted but wanting more at the same time.

 

Harry sits back to take off his jacket and shirt, and Draco takes the opportunity to lick below his belly button, feeling the trail of curly hairs on his tongue. It's almost frightening how he is so hungry for Harry that as soon as he touches him, all worry and insecurity fly away from his mind. Words fail him, all he can think of is his love for Harry, his need of Harry.

 

“How do you want me.” He looks up at him. “What do you want?”

 

“I want to see you.” Harry takes his wand from the back pocket of his jeans, and Vanishes their remaining clothes. Draco lies back, and can't resist the urge to palm his cock, sighing in relief as Harry climbs down the table and kneels on the floor. The way he looks at Draco, like there is nothing more beautiful, it's near to intoxicating.

 

He coats his fingers with conjured lube. Draco's skin prickles with want, he hasn't been properly touched yet and he can swear he is already close to the edge.

 

“I won't ever get tired of seeing you like this, Draco. The blush spreading on your cheeks as I open you up.” A gasp escapes him as Harry’s fingertip circles his entrance and as he drags his tongue up his shaft. “Fucking gorgeous.”

 

 _“Harry.”_ Draco drops his head back, unable to think coherently but welcoming the soft burn of Harry’s digit slowly going inside.

 

“Look at me, love.” When Draco does, Harry takes his cock and swirls his tongue over the tip, his finger gently going deeper until it settles all the way in. Draco takes deep breaths as he gets used to the feeling, all the while following the motions of Harry’s tongue.

 

“Slower?” Harry murmurs.

 

“No. More,” he gasps and grips the edges of the table as he feels Harry’s finger going in and out. _“Fuck, yes.”_

 

Harry’s breath ghosts over his cock as he puts in a second finger and Draco groans, bucking his hips faster and meeting Harry’s steady thrusts. The pleasure and the anticipation have Draco squirming and arching his back. He doesn't know if it's been seconds or hours that have passed by, but he wants more, so much more. “Fuck, Harry. Please.”

 

Harry climbs back onto the table and kneels before him, running a hand up and down Draco’s chest with an almost predatory look in his eyes. Without a second thought, Draco puts his thighs over Harry’s and feels his fingers slipping out. The dreaded emptiness is quickly replaced by the tip of his cock gently pushing in. Draco nods and moves his hips, encouraging him to keep going.

 

“Tell me more,” he says between groans and gasps. “What more do you want?”

 

“Everything,” Harry answers, breathing hard and moving his hips in a firm rhythm, going deeper and deeper. “I want to watch the beads of sweat forming on your collarbone and lick them off while I fuck you.”

 

“God, _yes._  Keep going, keep -” It's as if every nerve in Draco’s body demands  _more._ He moans and whimpers as the slapping sound of skin against skin slowly fill the room, becoming louder. “Harry, you feel _so_ fucking good inside me, love.”

 

Harry takes Draco’s cock in his hand and strokes it in rhythm with his thrusts. Nothing else matters in this moment, not even the hard surface of the table he is lying on. If anything, the roughness only makes Draco feel closer to his climax.

 

“You have no idea,” says Harry, leaning down to lick and suck at the sensitive spots on Draco’s collarbone as he starts fucking him in earnest. “No idea what it does to me, to watch you like this. _Fuck,_ I want to make you lose your mind until all you can do is moan my name. Would you like that, love?”

 

“ _Yes_.” Draco runs a hand through his thick, soft hair and kisses him. “Don’t fucking stop. Don't hold back, Harry.”

 

“Draco… _look_ at me.”

 

The friction and the thrusts against his prostate, the feeling of Harry's hand stroking his cock, the look in his eyes… it all sends a wave of pleasure so intense Draco’s vision blurs until all he can see is emerald green irises. He comes, spilling over Harry's hand and both their stomachs. Almost immediately, Harry’s movements slow down as he, too, reaches the peak of his orgasm.

 

Their ragged breathing is all that can be heard in the room. After a couple of minutes, Harry holds him tight and Apparates them to their bedroom. Draco lets himself swim in unconcerned blissfulness between lazy kisses and sweet whispers, not caring if, later on, his worries come back at full speed.

 

* * *

 

 

“Could you stop doing that, darling?” Pansy requested.

 

“Doing what, exactly?”

 

“Undressing Potter with your eyes,” she teased.

 

Draco immediately lowered his gaze to his bowl of fruit and felt his cheeks and forehead growing hot.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He had been, in fact, caught staring at Potter. He would never admit it, of course.

 

Blaise scoffed behind his glass of pumpkin juice, though Draco didn’t think he was actually trying to hide it.

 

“Just ask him out already, Draco. I am not going through another one of your obsessing-over-Potter phases,” Blaise said, apparently carelessly.

 

“I second that,” Pansy added, raising a hand.

 

“First of all, I have never obsessed over Potter, and second of all, I don’t even like him. Why would I ask him out?”

 

Draco was a Slytherin at heart. He could always find a way to sneak out of uncomfortable situations like this one, but saying he didn’t like Potter was a plain lie. He _did_ like the prat —their increasingly long talks at night before going to sleep were proof of that. Pansy and Blaise didn’t need to know this, though.

 

“Right. Keep telling yourself that, darling.” Pansy patted the back of his hand and stood up, putting her tote bag on her shoulder. “I’m leaving now, have to meet up with Granger in the library for the Potions essay.”

 

She rolled her eyes so much, Draco thought she could see the inside of her head. He watched her engage conversation with the Abbott girl and leave the Great Hall together. A rush of affection coursed through him. She could still behave like a little bitch sometimes, but she was still one of his best friends and, besides, she had changed after the war; they all had.

 

“You can be honest with me, you know,” Blaise offered.

 

“For fuck’s sake, I _am_ being honest,” Draco barked, suddenly fed up.

 

“Then you won’t care in the slightest that Potter has been staring at you ever since Pansy left,” his friend said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

 

“I don’t,” Draco claimed, but couldn’t help looking at Potter from the corner of his eye. “Not at all.”

 

He would not admit it. Would _not_.


	3. Chapter 3

They were supposed to be investigating about the different uses of Boomslang skin and how it affected the brewing of Polyjuice Potion.

 

Potter had given up rather quickly. After thumping his head against the desk a couple of times, he rested his chin on the wooden surface and settled on watching Draco across him. Draco kept adding notes to his parchment —that should be at least three feet long— and consulted the _Moste Potente Potions_ book every now and then.

 

The library was nearly empty. Besides the occasional sigh coming from Potter and a few books whooshing by as they returned to their proper shelves, the scratching of quill and parchment was the only thing that could be heard.

 

“We’ve been working too hard,” Potter whispered, making Draco look up, bewildered. “We need to relax.”

 

 _“We?”_ he hissed. “Potter, you only have an inch so far.”

 

Potter seemed to be amused for some reason. He leaned back on his chair, managing to look like he didn't give a crap about correct posture, and smirked. His hair was rumpled like he'd just gotten off of a broom; Merlin, he looked so fucking good.

 

“I can do much more than an inch, Malfoy.” Potter winked. He actually _winked_.

 

The innuendo knocked Draco off balance. His mind immediately supplied him with images of his own pale hands running down golden tanned skin. It took him a humongous effort not to gurgle out incomprehensible words.

 

 _Get it together, Malfoy. Say something clever,_ he thought to himself.

 

 _“_ Well,” he cleared his throat, “you'll have to show me, Potter, because right now it doesn't look like you can take more than that.”

 

Oh, sweet Merlin. Draco internally groaned at his own lameness. Despite the hot feeling crawling up his neck to his cheeks, he held his head up, trying to look unfazed. Potter, on the other hand, didn’t look amused anymore, his expression slowly morphed into something dark... hungry.

 

He leaned closer, holding Draco’s gaze, and whispered, “I certainly hope I can show you.”

 

Stupid Potter. Stupid gorgeously attractive Potter, always finding ways to fluster Draco. He took a deep breath, and tried to relax the grip on his quill, lest it snap in two.

 

“We should… we should keep working.” He looked down to his parchment, praying to all the gods that his cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

 

“No, we shouldn't. As I said, _we_ have been working very hard, and you know what we need?” Potter waited until Draco raised an inquisitive brow. “We need to get sloshed with the lads.”

 

“Pah! Now is not the time to -”

 

“I wonder how you look like when you get tipsy, Malfoy.” Potter bit his lower lip before leaning even closer. “Do your cheeks get pink? Does your hair get all tousled? That's something I'd like to see.”

 

Somehow, despite the growing tightness in his trousers, Draco managed to keep his face expressionless —or so he thought.

 

“Sorry to disappoint you, Potty, but I do not get sloshed.”

 

“Really? Ten galleons says you can't take more than four firewhiskeys.”

 

Draco couldn't say no to a challenge. He’d already won their past bet when Slytherin beat Gryffindor in Quidditch and, after all, it would just be a couple of drinks, what could possibly go wrong?

 

“You're on, Potter.”

 

* * *

 

 

All the Weasleys gathered at The Burrow for New Year's Eve, but for some reason Harry had wanted to stay home. Draco isn't complaining, it's not that he dislikes the family _—_ not anymore _—,_ but sometimes it gets a tad overwhelming with all the children running around and the shouting conversations.

 

After a quiet and pleasant dinner they head to the sitting room with a half-empty bottle of red wine in hand, and agree it's Harry’s turn to pick a movie. Draco smiles when he sees the cover; Harry always wants to watch the same one during winter holidays.

 

Draco had grown fond of the 90’s film. He likes watching the kiddo kick the burglars’ arses, and the chap that owns a tarantula reminds him of Marcus Flint.

 

“Have I told you how much that Kevin boy looks so much like you in our first year?” Harry asks as he refills their glasses and sits beside him

 

“Every time,” Draco says with a smile, taking the glass Harry offers. “And that creepy neighbor bloke reminds me of Filch.”

 

“The McCallisters getting ready for the trip is so much like the Weasleys before going to King’s Cross.” Harry snickers. “It's almost scary how accurate it is.”

 

“I don't understand how they didn't go deaf. Knowing Mrs. Weasley she must've shouted herself hoarse.”

 

“It'd be nice, though, sending our own children off to Hogwarts.”

 

Draco is certain that the way his shoulders have tensed up don't go unnoticed, but then Harry’s wand alarm is buzzing, indicating there's a minute left for midnight. _Saved by the bell,_ he thinks.

 

He quickly stands up, taking advantage of the distraction, and casts a chronometer spell.

 

“You ready?” Draco asks, holding his hand out for Harry to take.

 

Harry seems surprised by his sudden eagerness to change the subject, but smiles nonetheless, and takes Draco’s hand to stand up.

 

“Ready,” he murmurs and kisses him on the cheek.

 

Draco knows he probably hasn't fooled him, but now isn't the right time to have that talk. Not yet.

 

* * *

 

Draco lost ten galleons. Potter was looking at him smugly with a disgusting smirk on his face. Well, not disgusting. His lips looked… they looked nice - biteable. Was biteable a word? It was now, as far as Draco was concerned. Yes, Potter’s lips were biteable.

 

Chatter, laughter and music filled Draco’s ears as he felt someone gripping his arm and shaking it lightly.

 

“You could be more subtle, darling,” Pansy said to his ear.

 

“S’no use, Pans,” Draco answered, returning his unfocused gaze to Potter. “E’s got pretty lups. I mean, lips.”

 

“You do realize he can hear you, Draco?”

 

“Want ‘im Pans, always. ‘Is eyes… so, so green.”

 

“Alright Potter, what the fuck did you give him? I swear, if you spiked his drink -”

 

“’Wha- No! ’Course not! I didn't even touch his firewhiskey.”

 

“Firewhi- Potter, Draco only drinks _butterbeer!_ ”

 

“Shhhut up, Pansy. Potter’ll h-hear you.” Seriously, this woman, did she not have any consideration for Draco? Shouting around how much of a lightweight he was, honestly.

 

The conversation that then took place before him traveled slowly to his brain, but the words didn't hold much meaning in that moment. He felt like he was swimming in a pool of nonchalant bliss.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I'm taking him to the castle.”

 

“Wait, Parkinson. I’ll take him.”

 

“Potter…”

 

“I won’t take advantage. I promise.”

 

“Fine. _Fine,_  Potter. But I’ll let you know, if you hurt him I _will_ fucking hex your cock off.”

 

“I won’t hurt him, Parkinson. That’s the last thing I want.”

 

* * *

 

It's the middle of May, but the dining room feels strangely cold. It has for a couple of months, ever since Mrs. Weasley had asked them if they had plans of having children.

 

_‘You’re still very young, but family planning is important, dears. You don't want to become parents at forty now, do you?’_

 

The conversation that took place after that and the hopeful glint in Harry’s eyes had been too much to endure, so Draco kept his distance.

 

Now, as the sit on the table, ten minutes had passed by and they are still silent. Draco notices Harry poking the spaghetti with his fork.

 

“Is the food okay?” he asks, but the man seems too entranced in his thoughts. “Harry?”

 

“Hm? Oh. Yes, delicious.”

 

“You haven’t -” Draco bites back his retort.

 

Harry hasn’t taken a single bite, but neither has Draco. He stands up and empties his plate back into the pot; no need to throw it away, he'll just leave it there for when Harry is actually hungry.

 

Draco leaves his plate in the sink. There's a plastic Starbucks cup in there, he decidedly distracts himself by staring at it and not think about the palpable tension in the air.

 

“Draco?”

 

“Yes?” He takes the Starbucks cup, throws it in the bin, and sets the rest of the dishes to wash by themselves with a flick of his wand.

 

“Is - is everything alright?”

 

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Draco says, and starts walking toward the door.

 

“You seem so quiet, and I -”

 

“I’m going to take a shower, care to join?” He interrupts without meeting Harry’s gaze; Draco somehow dreads the hopeful tone of his own voice.

 

Harry sighs and takes off his glasses to rub his eyes. “No, I – I showered earlier. I’ll just go straight to bed.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Never again,_ Draco thought. His eyes were shielded from the light by his curtains, but his temples felt like they were going to explode any second, the bitter taste in his mouth did nothing to make him feel better. A rush of blurry memories flashed through his mind: Finnigan and Weasley competing on who could stuff more pork pie down their throats —Draco’s bets had been on Weasley—, Blaise murmuring into Pansy’s ear, the Gryffindor Patil snogging Weasley’s ex-girlfriend, and Draco wishing he could do the same with Potter.

 

Draco groaned as he vaguely remembered the thoughts he'd had, and prayed to Merlin he hadn't actually said it all aloud. What he didn't remember was how he'd gotten back to their dorm. He kicked the duvet off and saw that someone had taken his loafers off, but other than that he was still wearing the same clothes as the night before. Good.

 

He struggled for a few seconds to part the curtains, cursing under his breath when he couldn't manage.

 

“Need some help there, Malfoy?” Potter offered.

 

Draco huffed and instinctively took his wand from under his pillow to Diffindo the ridiculous fabric open. He stumbled, rather inelegantly, out of his bed and cast a Reparo on the curtain.

 

“You're really moody when you're hungover, aren't you?” Potter asked with a small smile.

 

He seemed to have already showered. He took off his glasses to put on a dark green jumper, his wet hair stood in strange angles and Draco turned his back on him; partly to gather fresh clothes and a towel, and partly to stop thinking about how much he wanted to run his hands through that black mess of hair.

 

“The fact that you can drink loads of alcohol due to your troll-like liver doesn't mean we all can, Potter.”

 

“Loads? Malfoy, you only had two firewhiskeys.”

 

Draco froze with a pair of socks in his hand. Two firewhiskeys? _Two?_ He was dumbfounded, it had felt like he’d drank a whole barrel of the thing.

 

“If I knew you were such a lightweight I would've taken you for some pumpkin juice.” The smirk on Potter’s face was outrageous, yet instead of wanting to punch him, Draco wanted to kiss it off.

 

“I hate you,” he hissed and walked to the bathroom.

 

“Really? That wasn't what you said last night,” Harry said quickly, making Draco halt like he'd hit a wall. “Pretty fond of my eyes, you were.”

 

Draco’s eyes widened as he was struck by horror. He _did_ say all those thing aloud. Fucking hell, what was he supposed to do now? He thought of denying everything, even thought of suggesting that someone had imperiurised him to make him say it. No, he should probably just run. Run away and never return.

 

It seemed Potter knew exactly what he was thinking, because with a soft yet confident voice he said: “Please, look at me, Draco.”

 

It was impossible for him to say no when the sound of his given name coming out of Potter's lips was so warm, so delightful. He turned around slowly and met his gaze.

 

“I like you. So much,” Potter stated. The look on his face was so fond, his eyes so intense it made Draco’s heart skip a beat. Though Potter’s expression didn't show a hint of nervousness, his cheeks turned a slightly dark shade of pink. “Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend? No firewhiskey this time.”

 

Draco hadn't realized his jaw was clenched until it dropped. It could only mean one thing and it wasn't possible, it couldn't be.

 

“Potter, are you…”

 

“Yes. I’m asking you on a date, Draco.”


	4. Chapter 4

“HA! I knew it!” Pansy threw a triumphant punch in the air. “I knew there was something between you and Po-”

 

“Care to keep your voice down, Pansy,” Draco hissed, looking around the courtyard and then raising a challenging eyebrow to a passing third-year.

 

“I don't understand, though,” Blaise muttered, scratching his chin and knitting his brows. “He asked you on a date right after he had to deal with drunk-you, and then dealing with hungover-you. Is Potter mad?”

 

“Of course he's mad, darling.” Pansy put the back of her hand on her forehead and fake-fainted for Blaise to catch her. “Mad about Draco!”

 

“Will you stop that? People could hear you,” Draco mumbled hurriedly.

 

“So what?” Pansy said as she straightened  but kept Blaise close. “Draco, he asked you on a date to Hogsmeade of all places, and the way he looks at you, like there's nothing more delicious in this world... it's not like he's actually trying to be discreet about it.”

 

“I'm afraid she's right,” Blaise said, his arms still wrapped around Pansy’s waist.

 

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Shut up already.”

 

But he couldn't hide the small smile on his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco spins out of the Floo into Pansy’s living room. She's lying on a red victorian chaise, filing her nails and reading a muggle mag that's floating in front of her.

 

“I wasn’t expecting you, darling. Blaise will be here in -” Pansy’s brows furrow when she finally sees the expression on his face. She stands up, knocking the magazine down. “What is it, love?”

 

“You were right,” Draco whispers. “I think I'm losing him, Pansy.”

 

“Mindy!” she suddenly calls as she strides to Draco, takes his hand in hers and pulls him to sit on the chaise.

 

A tiny, hazel-eyed house-elf with a red bow on her head appears in the middle of the room and Pansy asks her for tea. Mindy vanishes and almost immediately comes back with a tray with two cups and a plate with biscuits.

 

“Tell me what's wrong,” Pansy inquires.

 

Draco looks down to his knees. The need to talk, to say all the things he’d kept quiet for so long for fear of hurting Harry, had become such a heavy weight on his shoulders that now he doesn't know where to start.

 

“Draco,” Pansy whispers, slightly squeezing his shoulder. “I'm here for you, darling.”

 

“I - I don't think he wants me anymore,” he says, meeting her gaze.

 

Pansy cups his jaw with one hand, the small crease between her brows deepening with worry.

 

“But why, Draco? There must be a reason.” Her expression suddenly turns fierce and she squares her shoulders. “Do you think he's cheating on you? Because if he is, I swear to Salazar-”

 

“No,” Draco cuts her off. “It's me, Pans; it's my fault, _I’ve_ been pushing him away.” He closes his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that burn against his lids. “He's always dreamed of adopting a child and he was so excited and I just… I said yes. I said yes, but I lied, Pansy. I don't want to be a father.”

 

* * *

 

Draco had not signed up for this. When he had agreed to go to the Artefact Room with Pansy and Blaise on his free period, he had thought it was for a private chat, not just to watch them snog each other senseless.

 

“It is very nauseating watching you two almost devour one another’s faces,” he said with a sneer.

 

“Now now, darling.” Pansy gave Blaise one last peck on the lips and sat on his lap. “Put the bitch away. It’s just one more day until you get some proper snogging yourself, not to worry.”

 

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. Of course he was eager for his date with Potter, but he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of hearing those words coming out of his mouth.

 

“Pah! Do you really think there hasn't been any action between them yet? They've been roommates for months,” Blaise said, and Pansy gasped.

 

“How did I not think of that before?” Her smile suddenly turned mischievous and her eyes shone with an evil glint. It did not bode well, Draco feared. “Have you and Potter already been naughty in the depths of your dorm?”

 

“No!” Draco retorted, but Pansy wasn't listening.

 

“Draco, darling, are the rumours true? Is Potter big? Is it thick? Pray tell, I've always wondered about the Saviour’s cock.” She shifted and leaned forward as if they were discussing a very interesting Arithmancy topic. Blaise inevitably looked down to where she was sitting, right on his crotch.

 

“What the fuck do you care about his cock?” Draco demanded. “You better stay away from him, you hag!”

 

“What?” She put a hand on her chest, supposedly offended by his words. “How dare you, darling. He’s not even my type, and it's all for the sole purpose of research.”

 

“Research, Pansy.” He lifted an eyebrow and gave her a look of utter incredulity. “Seriously.”

 

“Of course, love. If I'm going to be a reporter for The Prophet I need to start documenting all the juicy gossip I can get.”

 

“And that juicy gossip involves Potter’s cock?” Blaise asked. His hands had possessively sneaked up to her waist and a hint of jealousy could be heard in his voice.

 

“Well…” She snickered. “If it's not gossip I’m sure it'll at least be juicy.”

 

“Ugh! You are so disgusting, Pansy, honestly.”

 

Draco was no prude, contrary to popular belief, he just had good manners. And it wasn't that he hadn't thought of Potter that way —surely half the Wizarding World was gagging to get a sneak peak inside his pants, so why wouldn't he? It wasn't a surprise to find himself sporting a semi every time Potter walked around the dorm with nothing more than a towel after a shower, but Draco was more interested in getting to know other aspects of him, things that he'd been dying to learn for years.

 

“Oh, come off it, for fuck’s sake!” Pansy rolled her eyes and leaned back against Blaise. “Are you really going to tell me you haven't pondered on it? Sucking Potter off, him fucking you, saying how delicious your arse feels on his cock…”

 

“That's... actually kind of hot,” Blaise admitted.

 

“I'm almost jealous of your neighboring dorms," she continued. "Imagine waking up in the middle of the night to Potter’s moans.”

 

"Stop squirming," Blaise told her, failing to keep his voice a whisper.

 

"Pansy, you fucking pervert!" Draco said, his face felt hot not only because of their shameless randy display, but because now the images were twirling around in his mind.

 

“Alright, that's it. I've had it with you two, good _bye_.” He stood up and exited the room, leaving them there to finish whatever they were so desperate to do.

 

Draco decided to take his time to arrive to Charms class. Potter would be there and he was aware that maybe, as soon as he smiled at Draco, his jitters would get the best of him.

 

Just one day until their date. One day.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry pinched his forearm under the table. No, it wasn't a dream, he was really on a date with Malfoy… with Draco.

 

He had thought his friends would be surprised when he told them about it, but couldn't be more wrong. Hermione had rolled her eyes and continued reading, Ron looked a bit uncomfortable but congratulated him nonetheless, Ginny had shouted ‘fucking finally, Harry!’ in the middle of the Great Hall, and Neville had actually suggested where to take Draco.

 

They were seated in a booth in the corner next to the entrance of _The Badger_ —a new pub in Hogsmeade. It was very clean, with wide windows and a few plants hanging from the ceiling. Despite the couple sets of eyes staring directly at Harry and Draco, the place had a friendly feeling to it.

 

A tall, dark man around his thirties walked up to them. “Hullo. Welcome to The Badger, lads! Here’s what we’ve got for today.” He waved his wand and two menus popped into existence. “Can I get you something to drink while you decide?”

 

“Two butterbeers, please,” Harry said.

 

The man walked away to the bar to give them time to read through the menu. Harry didn't pay much attention to it, though, he was too busy watching the small crease between Draco’s pale eyebrows, watching as Draco bit his bottom lip in concentration. Harry could spend the whole day like this, just memorising his facial expressions.

 

“Ham-burger?”

 

And his hands, Harry really liked Draco's hands. He was almost certain they were very soft, with his long and elegant fingers...

 

“Potter?”

 

“Yeah?” he mumbled, shaking himself from his reverie. “Er, yeah. Hamburger. You want one?”

 

“I will think about it as soon as you tell me what it is.”

 

“Wait.” Harry blinked and tried to comprehend the situation. “You've never had a burger before?”

 

Draco straightened his shoulders and licked his lips nervously. “I've had a variety of exquisite dishes, Potter, such as caviar and truffle risotto. My palate is accustomed to the best, but I had never heard of this burger thing,” he drawled.

 

“Right.” Harry had no idea what a risotto was, but he loved how fancy it sounded in Draco’s voice. Then the man was back with their drinks. “Thanks, Mister…”

 

“Just Fergus, sir. Pleasure to meet you.” He shook Harry’s hand and Draco’s as well, his smile never faltering.

 

“Nice to meet you too, Fergus,” Harry said. “We’ll both have burgers and a side of chips, please.”

 

Fergus swished his wand. The plates materialized in midair and landed gracefully in front of them, along with a bottle of ketchup.

 

“Bon appetit,” Fergus said before walking away.

 

Harry took the ketchup and poured a small amount in his burger and beside his chips when he noticed Draco staring after Fergus, looking utterly dumbfounded.

 

“Something wrong?”

 

Draco turned to look at him, raising his brows questioningly. “Where is the cutlery?” he whispered.

 

“Cutlery?” Harry had never been more confused.

 

“Yes, cutlery. How am I supposed to eat my meal without a fork and a knife?”

 

If someone, anyone, had told him two years back that he would find Draco Malfoy endearing, Harry would’ve hexed their tongue off. But, in that moment, it was becoming a struggle to stop himself from looking at Draco with puppy eyes.

 

“You don't need cutlery, Draco. You eat it like this.” He took the burger in his hands and gave it a large bite. Harry thought it was one of the best burgers he'd had in a long time. He looked at Draco to prove that yes, he was in fact still alive after eating something with his bare hands, but noticed that he was staring at Harry’s throat as he swallowed.

 

“You have a - a little smudge of…” Draco stuttered and shakily pointed at the corner of Harry’s mouth, “of ketchup.”

 

“Oh, thanks.” He swiped the smudge with his thumb and slowly sucked the ketchup off it. He smirked upon noticing the way Draco wet his lips as he followed Harry's movements. In a display of boldness, he leaned closer to him and murmured to his ear, “You’ve got to suck it off your fingers.”

 

He didn't know what it was, but something about Draco brought out a part of Harry that he never knew existed —a part of him that didn't mind some shameless use of innuendo, apparently— and his reactions always managed to make Harry want to kiss him right then and there.

 

Draco cleared his throat and looked away, trying to look impassive and failing spectacularly. “That was...” he cleared his throat again, “extremely uncivilized, Potter. You could've used a napkin.”

 

“Oh c’mon, Draco,” Harry said, gently bumping their shoulders together. “Afraid of getting your delicate hands a little dirty?”

 

“Excuse me? My hands are not delicate, and I have absolutely no fear of a piece of meat between two slices of bread.”

 

But Harry wasn't one to give up, he knew Draco would love burgers, it was just a matter of changing the tactics.

 

“I dare you to do it, and if you do I'll make your bed the muggle way for the rest of the month.”

 

Draco snorted at that. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, you don't even do your own bed.”

 

But Harry knew he could never say no to a challenge and by the way Draco was already looking down to the dish in front of him, he had already accepted.

 

“Tell Mother I love her,” he whispered —the dramatic, adorable git.

 

He closed his eyes and took a bite; everything went slow motion after that. Draco let out a quiet moan as he chewed, and there it was again, the small crease between his brows. Harry couldn't do anything but stare and try to control his breathing and heart rate as Draco swallowed, took another bite and moaned yet again.

 

He never had thought watching someone eat would get him as randy as he was in that moment. Before he could look away and pretend he wasn’t growing hard in his pants in the middle of a pub, Draco opened his eyes and met his gaze.

 

“Merlin, Harry, how is this so good?” he mumbled, his mouth still half-full.

 

Harry was so amazed that Draco had forgotten about manners... and Harry loved it. He loved that he could let go of his Malfoy mask, that he let down his walls and showed himself to Harry. It was then, as the day wore on and their smiles became softer, as their gazes grew intense, that Harry knew there was much more he could love about Draco Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

 

It's nearly midnight and Draco isn't home yet. Harry is sitting in the kitchen, staring at the red coffee-filled mug in his hands. He had arrived almost three hours ago to an empty house, no note in sight that could explain where Draco was. He's probably with Pansy. Harry _wants_ to believe he's with Pansy.

 

There's so much going on in his head, but the one thought that keeps sending shivers up his spine is the change in Draco’s behaviour the past months. The heat between them is almost gone, he feels Draco never wants to talk to him, like he's hiding something. Harry feels he's being pushed away.

 

He had spent hours, sometimes even during work, trying to figure out what was he doing wrong, why was Draco so cold toward him.

 

A dreadful thought suddenly strikes him. What if… what if he doesn't love Harry anymore? It's past midnight already and Draco isn't home. What if he's seeing someone else?

 

The red mug suddenly shatters into tiny pieces. Harry closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, trying to even his breathing and reign in his magic. Years of Auror training, of work in the field fighting against dark wizards and dodging killing curses, and it's only the fear of losing Draco that makes Harry lose control.

 

He paces from the kitchen to the living room and back, raking his hands through his hair, making it messier, not knowing what to do with himself. He thinks about Flooing to Pansy’s or Blaise’s place, but doesn't want to look like an overprotective lunatic. Worst of all, what if Draco isn't there?

 

No. No no no no. Harry is not going to let those thoughts take over him again, he just won't. Draco loves him. Draco loves  _him,_ Harry.

 

He goes upstairs to their bedroom and sits on the bed, taking deep breaths. He’s had enough of this, of the uncertainty, the doubts and the distance between them. He wants it to end.

 

 _Please come back Draco, please come back Draco,_ he keeps whispering to himself, trying with all his might to keep at bay thoughts of the love of his life in the arms of a stranger.

 

Suddenly, he hears the flames of the Floo downstairs, and Harry’s heart skips a beat. Seconds that seem like an eternity later, Draco walks into the room and all thought, all suspicion vanishes from Harry’s mind.

 

“You're here,” he says through a sigh of relief.

 

Draco frowns and opens his mouth to say something, but Harry stands up, closes the distance between them in three swift strides and seals their lips in a bruising kiss. His hands roam of their own accord across Draco's body, pulling him closer, feeling the muscles of his back, wanting to melt into Draco. Draco, Draco, _Draco,_  is all Harry can think of.

 

He feels long, soft hands cupping his jaw, caressing his neck, dragging up his scalp and gripping his hair. Harry kisses harder, sucking Draco’s bottom lip, sliding their smooth tongues together and reveling on the feeling of their hard cocks against one other. Draco tugs his hair lightly, just in the right spot, and Harry moans, feeling a shiver of pleasure run down straight to his crotch.

 

It's all too much and not enough at the same time. They only break the kiss to grasp for air, their hair and clothes a complete mess, their breathing ragged and hot. Draco looks at Harry questioningly, but never letting go of him, and Harry looks back into the grey irises with specks of pale blue that he loves so much.

 

“I miss you,” he whispers softly, letting the tips of his fingers trail down Draco's cheeks, lips and chin. “I _miss_ you, Draco.”

 

Draco lets out a shaky sigh. The worry and the fragility are clear in his eyes, in the way he bites his lip, and Harry wants nothing more than to kiss it all away. He takes him by the shirt and gently pulls, bringing their foreheads together and caressing the nape of Draco's neck. He needs to know what he's doing wrong, how to fix it.

 

“Tell me. Please, just…” Draco gulps and tries to take a step back, but Harry holds on to his shirt, not willing to put anymore distance between them. “ _Please,_ Draco.”

 

“Harry, I -” He takes a deep breath and puts his hands over Harry’s waist. He can feel him shaking. “There's… There's something you need to know.”

 

The relief Harry had felt turned into a crushing weight in his chest. Maybe his fears were becoming a reality, maybe Draco doesn't love him anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry woke up to the sound of Draco’s screaming.

 

Nightmares.

 

He immediately jumped out of bed, plastered his glasses on his face and all but ran to Draco’s through the dark room. He was curled up in a ball, his fisted hands covering his ears and his eyes scrunched shut.

 

“Draco, it’s alright. It’s me.” He put a hand over his chest and another over his shoulder. Draco opened his eyes, startled, and tried to crawl away; the fear Harry saw there… it broke his heart. He held his hands up, speaking as calm as he could manage. “It’s okay, it’s me. It was all a nightmare, I'm here.”

 

He slowly sat on the bed, trying to make eye contact with Draco, but he was frantically looking around and shaking his head as if trying to rid the images of his nightmare from his eyes. The heaving of his chest was still erratic and beads of sweat fell down his temples and neck.

 

“Draco, look at me.” When he finally did, Harry leaned closer. “Can I touch you?”

 

He got an affirmative nod in response, so he took Draco’s shaky hand and placed it flat against Harry's chest.

 

“Breathe with me. I'm here.”

 

Draco locked his eyes with Harry’s, inhaling and exhaling deeply until his breathing started to ease. It wasn't the first time it happened and it wouldn't be the last, but Harry didn't mind. They understood one another, they were both broken after all.

 

“Can - can you hold me?” Draco whispered, his voice still hoarse after screaming.

 

Harry didn't think twice, he just moved to lay down next to him and put Draco's hand over his chest again. He didn't need to ask questions, he knew what the nightmare must have been about, he just wanted to be there for him.

 

When their breathing matched, Draco entwined their fingers and Harry marveled on the contrast of his tanned skin against Draco’s pale one. He was suddenly hyper aware of Draco's head over his shoulder, of the soft hairs tickling his jaw, of the leg that slowly slid between his.

 

After a bit more than a month of dating they had never been this close. Yes, there had been kisses in dark corridors, shy touches in empty classrooms, but nothing had felt as intimate as this moment. Harry had to concentrate to control his heartbeat. He looked up to the roof of the bed, trying to find patterns in the dark to distract himself. He felt Draco shift and then his chin was on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered. Harry looked down, meeting his gaze. Draco seemed to glow like an ethereal being under the moonlight, and fuck, he was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.

 

He tried to say something, _‘you don’t have to thank me’, ‘I’ll always be here for you’,_ but couldn't utter a single one of those words as Draco rose, shifting his weight on his free hand, and closed the distance between them.

 

He lightly pecked him on the lips once, twice, then he let go of Harry’s hand and cupped his jaw. His thumb traced the outline of his lips, before leaning down to kiss him again. Harry was always fascinated by his kisses, by the way even the slightest touch was full of intensity and want. It had started slow, but when Draco caught Harry's bottom lip and gently scraped it with his teeth, Harry’s heart started thumping harder against his chest.

 

He nervously touched Draco's pajama-clad arm and slid his hand up to his shoulder and neck, keeping their lips attached and hoping Draco wouldn't notice the way he was shaking. Their tongues met, the hand on Harry’s jaw slid down to rest on his heart, then Draco was pulling back. Harry sat up straight, following after him as if attracted by a magnetic force.

 

“Can I?” Draco whispered.

 

Harry had no idea what he meant. There were so many possibilities in that short sentence, he didn't know how to interpret it. His confusion must've shown on his face, for Draco held on to Harry’s shoulders and moved to straddle his knees. He eyed him expectantly, and that was when Harry knew he had never done this either, they were both new to all of it, and he was probably just as nervous as Harry. That somehow reassured him.

 

Without a word, he hugged Draco by the waist, pulled him closer, and they were kissing again. He thought he would never get tired of this, of holding Draco, of their hungry kisses and the sweet touch of his hands.

 

Harry let himself be gently pushed back as Draco kissed his chin and nibbled his jaw. He was trying so hard not to buck his hips upwards, he was holding on to the last threads of his self control, but then he felt Draco's hard cock against his own over the fabric of their joggers and there was little he could do. With a groan, Harry pulled him to lie on his side, their breaths hot against their lips, and he gasped at the feeling of Draco’s hand lifting his t-shirt and running his palm up his abdomen. His own hand wandered up and down Draco’s waist and the side of his thigh, gripping hard when the grinding of their cocks sent shots of pleasure to the very tips of his toes.

 

He kissed, nibbled and licked at the soft, pale skin of Draco’s neck and collarbone. Draco moaned, and the sound was so delightful Harry had to hold on tight for dear life, his hands now touching wherever they could reach, and his hips moving faster, harder.

 

One of Draco's hands suddenly gripped his hair, sending a delicious shiver down his spine, and Harry watched as the other hand traveled down to his crotch. He slowed his movements and his breath caught on his throat as he looked into Draco's eyes.

 

“Are you sure?” he croaked, and swallowed down his heart’s attempts to crawl up his throat.

 

Draco licked his lips and nodded. “Are you?”

 

A rough sigh escaped Harry's lips before he could stop it. He wanted to receive anything and everything Draco was willing to offer, there was little room in his mind to think of acting shy. He wanted Draco to feel and explore every inch of his body and Harry wanted to do the same in return.

 

“Yes. Yes, I'm sure.”

 

Draco licked his lips again, and looked down as he hooked a finger in the waistband of Harry's joggers. The drumming of his heart in his ears was all Harry could hear, he was torn between burying his face in the pillows and keeping his eyes glued on Draco's hand gently tugging his pants down. His cock sprung out, smearing precome below his belly button. Without hesitation, Draco took it in his hand and started moving in slow pumps and glided his thumb over the tip, spreading precome on it. Harry thrusted into Draco’s fist and he had to close his eyes to just _breathe._

 

“Is this okay?” Draco whispered, his breathing just as ragged as Harry's.

 

He could only nod, unable to form a single word. He had never felt like this, never had so many sensations running up and down his body, and he thought it wasn't only because someone else's hand was doing it for him, but because it was Draco.

 

And Harry wanted more, not just _from_ him, but more _of_ him. He opened his eyes, looking straight into Draco's, and moved his own shaky hand down, down, down until he was touching his still covered cock with just his fingertips _._

 

Before he could ask, Draco was already answering, “Yes. Please, Harry, yes.”

 

It was all he needed to hear. Harry tugged at Draco's joggers and pants, a small voice in the back of his head whispered something about inexperience, but it quieted once he finally pulled the clothes down; his mouth watered. He wrapped a hand around Draco’s length, marveling at the sight of both of them bucking their hips and fisting their cocks.

 

“Harry,” Draco moaned. “Harry, look at me.”

 

Their eyes met. The grey irises that were always cool and cautious were now fiery, passionate.

 

“Fuck, Draco.” The thought of him being the only one able to see that look had Harry tipping over the edge. They stroked one another, groaning, panting and moaning, looking deep into each other's eyes until their thrusts became erratic and they both spilled over their hands and stomachs.

 

Their movements slowed when the sensations were too much to bear. It wasn’t until then that they closed their eyes, enjoying the aftershocks of their climax. Harry had always worried that things would be awkward after something like this happened, but in that moment he had never felt more comfortable, more secure.

 

“We definitely have to do that again,” Draco said.

 

Harry smiled and opened his eyes again to see him smiling back.

 

“Yeah, we definitely have to.”

 

Maybe one night wouldn't be enough for what Harry wanted to do and share with Draco, neither a month nor a year. But maybe a lifetime together would be.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco can see Harry’s jaw clenching, his hands loosening the grip on his shirt and dropping at his sides, the step he is taking back, but can't muster the courage to look at him in the eye.

 

 _‘You need to tell him, darling,’_ Pansy had said earlier, but it isn't as easy as that. He can't just say it and crush Harry’s hopes of having children together, after he’s dreamt of it for years.

 

“Draco?”

 

He can't, he doesn't know how. The words catch up in his throat and it's becoming so hard to breathe. Draco goes to sit on the edge of the bed and holds his head in his hands, the tears already forming in his eyes.

 

“Draco, whatever this is,” Harry starts to say, standing in the same spot Draco had left him.

 

“I'm sorry,” he suddenly blurts out. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I can't go on like this. I don't want to lie anymore.”

 

Harry takes a sharp intake of breath. “What?”

 

Somehow, Draco manages to look up to meet his gaze, biting hard on his lip, and the hurt in Harry’s eyes… it breaks Draco. He tries to apologize, tries to say _something_ , but Harry raises his hands in front of him.

 

“No. Please, Draco.” His bottom lip and chin are trembling, his green eyes sparkling with tears. Draco's eyes widen and he feels fear creeping in his chest, freezing his lungs. “I know what you're saying, I don't need your reasons, just… don't.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Stop it,” Draco said, laughing and trying to take Harry's wrist.

 

Harry dodged him, threw the last piece of his bacon sandwich to the lake and triumphantly wiggled his eyebrows at Draco.

 

“If you keep doing that, Harry, it'll expect us to feed it every time.”

 

“I don't mind, it must get tired of eating fish and seaweed.” He cast a cushioning charm on the grass, next to a tree, and sat. He patted the spot on the floor, between his legs, for Draco to sit.

 

They watched the ripples on the shore and the chunks of food float on the surface for a moment, and then the tips of three tentacles wrapped the pieces and pulled them to bottom of the lake.

 

"See? It loves bacon," Harry said softly to his ear, making Draco get goosebumps.

 

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" He chuckled. "What are you going to do once we are not here to feed it? It'll miss us."

 

"We'll tell our child to do it for us once Hogwarts starts for her... or him."

 

"Our… child?" Draco felt like a small cube of ice was going down his throat.

 

"Yeah, can you imagine that? Our own family, in a big house, with a massive garden where our little one can play and run around."

 

Surely Harry was having him on. Draco craned his neck to look back at him, but saw that his expression was open and sincere.

 

“Maybe some place like The Burrow, so we can have a little broom racing away from the muggles once in a while. Remind you who the best Seeker is,” he teased.

 

But Draco couldn’t process things properly. Harry was serious, he wanted children with him. With Draco, who had never even held a baby in his life, who had grown up being attended by house-elves, surrounded by toys and expensive clothes, who had been raised by a loving mother but a power-hungry father.

 

He remembered the prejudiced boy he used to be, the beliefs that he’d been taught and had led him to making the worst decisions of his life. Draco feared he would make the same mistakes his father had made with him.

 

“Massive garden,” he whispered absentmindedly.

 

“Hey, I know we’re both still very young and have no clue of what will happen once we’re out of Hogwarts but,” Harry entwined their fingers together and smiled nervously, “you're it for me, Draco, and I would like to have a future with you.”

 

Draco snapped back into the present moment. He sat up straight and faced Harry. The idea had floated in his mind —during lazy evenings in the common room, dates in Hogsmeade, naps together in either of their beds—, but he had never even dared to think Harry had thought about it too.

 

“I love you, Draco.”

 

He had always thought the phrase ‘feeling butterflies’ was rather cheesy and ridiculous, but that was exactly what he felt in that moment. Hundreds of butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

 

Harry started chewing on his lip and fidgeting with the grass on the ground when the silence stretched for too long.

 

“I understand if you don't feel the same, I just-”

 

“No, no.” Draco cupped Harry's face and made him look into his eyes. “I love you, too.”

 

Harry's face lit up and he started covering Draco with kisses on his nose, his cheeks, his lips… every single one of them punctuated by an ‘I love you’. His blazing smile wiped every other thought in his mind and Draco couldn't help but smile in return, exhilarated by their declarations.

 

If he had ever been sure of anything in his life, it was his feelings for Harry. He knew it was mad —childish, even. Their history was far from the best, they had been in an ‘official’ relationship for less than six months, he hadn't even sorted out what he wanted to do for a living, and the prospect of even considering having a child was utterly terrifying. But he loved Harry, he loved him with his whole being, and he wanted to make him happy and be happy with him. As for the rest… he would figure it out later.

 

* * *

 

“Just don't.”

 

Draco has never seen Harry like this, so vulnerable, so afraid. Tears start to roll down his cheeks but he never looks away, as if he's afraid Draco will suddenly vanish.

 

“Harry…” his whisper broke the silence. “I'm sorry.”

 

Suddenly, a wave of Harry’s magic sweeps through him, making the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand.

 

“Don't leave,” Harry pleads, taking a step forward. “I can make it right, whatever it is. Please, Draco, give me a chance to make it right.”

 

A cloud of confusion blurs the edges of Draco's sight. He frowns and blinks, trying to grasp at what Harry had just said but he doesn't understand the meaning of it. Make it right? He has done nothing wrong.

 

“What? Harry, no! I'm not leaving.”

 

Harry let's go a heavy sigh and sags, the relief clear in his face. “You’re not? You still love me?”

 

“Of course I do,” Draco says, and he feels the small pieces of information connecting in his brain. It doesn't matter, once he finally says aloud what had been eating him up, what Harry’s reaction will be. He needs to make it clear that there is no one else in his life other than him. “Harry, I’ve never loved _anyone_ other than you. It’s always been you. Just you.”

 

Harry breathes hard and wipes the tears away, but they keep coming. He looks like he's trying to keep calm and comprehend the situation.

 

“What is going on, Draco? This is literally destroying me inside. You said you didn't want to lie and I thought you were -” He pinches the bridge of his nose and then runs his hand through his hair. “What is going on?”

 

 _Just say it, just say it and it'll be over once and for all. He loves you, he won't leave._ Draco grips hard on his thighs and takes a deep breath, trying to summon all and any courage he has.

 

“I don't want children,” he blurts out, fixing his gaze somewhere above Harry's left shoulder. He doesn't look directly at him, he doesn't think he can bear to see expressions of hurt, anger or disappointment. “I'm sorry.”

 

“You don't… want children?” he hears Harry say.

 

“I can't.” He lowers his gaze, his whole body so tense his muscles hurt, and starts giving frantic explanations. He needs Harry to understand. “I can't and I’m so sorry I never said it. I know you've always wanted a family and I want to make you happy, I thought I’d get used to the idea but I -”

 

 _“No.”_ Harry cuts the distance between them and kneels in front of him, taking Draco's hands and kissing them ever so tenderly. “I would never do that to you. Yes, it’s true I’ve always wanted a family, but only if you want it too, Draco. I understand if you’re not ready, hell, I’ll understand if you don’t think you’ll _ever_ be ready. I thought you knew this, love.”

 

Draco is speechless. The tears finally fall down his cheeks as he stares at Harry holding his hands and kissing them again.

 

“I'm sorry if I ever made you believe you had to do something you didn't want to to make me happy. You were always so quiet, I thought you didn't want me anymore and I distanced myself from you. I should've known -”

 

“Harry.” Draco cups his face and looks into his eyes.

 

He wipes the tears from Harry’s cheeks with his thumbs, regretting he was the one to put them there. How could have Draco been so foolish? He had been so wrapped in his own concerns that he didn't stop to think what was going on in Harry’s mind, what Harry was feeling. It seems so ridiculous now, to have spent so much time worrying about something he should've expressed from the very beginning.

 

“I was so afraid you would leave I tried to pretend everything was alright and I… I ended up pushing you away.” He shakes his head, the guilt at the realization of his own selfishness makes him feel so undeserving of Harry.

 

“I meant it when I said I missed you. I want you back, Draco, the real you. Promise me you won't ever keep quiet again, no matter how upset you think I might get. Promise me you'll speak.”

 

He stands up and Draco hugs him by the waist and puts his ear against Harry’s chest, the weight on his shoulders slowly starts to lift as he listens to Harry’s heartbeat. There's no reason to be afraid, there never had been, he understands that now. As long as they voice their needs, as long as they talk, they can always work things out.

 

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you have a problem in your relationship that you’ve chosen not to share with your partner, you contribute more towards the problem than you realise. Being able to effectively communicate in a relationship is the perfect way to show your partner how happy you are within it. Keeping quiet about a problem will only hurt your relationship and your partner in the long-run. The lyrics of Don't Speak inspired me to write a much heavier angst, but my heart simply couldn't bear it. Ultimately, I decided to showcase how a good (not perfect) relationship can wither due to lack of communication and denial, and how it can be saved by speaking up despite fears and insecurities.
> 
> Please check out the amazing art titled [Library Memories](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HDWireless2018/works/15299442) that the lovely @/lettersbyelise made inspired in this fic.


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